


Greater Love Hath No Man for his Friends

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had been on a lot of missions in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greater Love Hath No Man for his Friends

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Aesc for encouragement and inspiration :D

John had been on a lot of missions in his life. He'd flown choppers in Afghanistan, helped blow up hive ships, been in fire fights on half a hundred worlds, but few of them had been as hazardous as this one. He had no wingman, after all, no one to lay down covering fire as he went in, and his only tactical info was written on a piece of paper that was slowly growing moist and useless in his perspiring palm.

"Buck up, Sheppard," he told himself firmly, and made himself march through the door of the Walgreens.

He navigated through the familiar areas first, establishing an alibi for himself. Couple of extra-large bags of Doritos, a bottle of Axe body spray, and some of those mega-dose multivitamins that were apparently guaranteed to help weightlifters bulk up. Then and only then did he square his shoulders and head in the direction of the sign that said 'Feminine Care.'

His eyes widened with horror when he got there, though. It wasn't just a section—it was a whole _aisle_, both sides of it lined with packages in various shades of purple and green and blue and pink. He looked down at the list, but Teyla's neat handwriting didn't offer him any guidance beyond _sanitary towels and tampons, several packets_. What good was that to him, when there were all these different options? There were different colours and sizes and some of them apparently had _wings_; John didn't want to know, because he had a sense nothing good could come of asking why sanitary towels needed to be aerodynamic.

John walked the length of the aisle slowly, eyeing the products warily. He didn't think even the Axe was going to be able to camouflage the possibility that he was associated with a, a... lady softness. He picked up one packet; it asked him how heavy his flow was, and he dropped it quick as if it had burnt him. The second one advised him to have a happy period; John scowled at it, because his period sucked so far, and he wasn't even the one with the cramps.

He still didn't understand why Teyla couldn't just come and do this herself. Sure, okay, she had a kid to look after and half a dozen negotiations and treaty signings to keep track of back at the SGC; and sure, she'd looked at him as if he was asking to have his ass kicked when he'd _very tactfully_ suggested the drug store was only a few minutes' drive off base; but this was all probably much more easy to interpret for women, even if they're from another galaxy. Teyla would probably be able to choose between scented and unscented he thought, looking from one packet to another with growing desperation—what the hell was there to scent down there?

Eventually, John decided desperation was the better part of valour. He chose half a dozen different kinds of pads and tampons and tossed them into his basket, along with a couple packs of Motrin, making sure only not to pick the ones that came in pink boxes—Elizabeth had apparently been swift to educate Teyla about what pink meant in Western Earth cultures, and now Teyla viewed even strawberry pop tarts with disdain. (Which was her loss, John thought, because strawberry pop tarts were _awesome_.)

It would be a lot easier, John thought, trying to hide all the Female Necessities beneath artfully arranged bags of Doritos, if these things were packaged differently: sleek black boxes with silvery, futuristic fonts and names like _PERIODBLOCK X-TREME_ would surely be less awful to buy. After all, his (admittedly seldom-used) razor could do Mach 5—why couldn't a tampon be similarly technological?

Maybe he should write to Tampax or Kotex, he thought as he lugged his basket back through the aisles towards the checkout. Suggest a line of Womanly Products that men could buy for their girlfriends or wives or significant others or team members or _whatever_ without suffering excruciating embarrassment. (And whatever he might say about Nancy—had said, during a divorce that had its fair share of acrimony—_she'd_ never asked him to go out and get stuff like this.) Or at least those men who had the balls to go into a drug store and do so—not like a certain Rodney McKay, who'd turned a funny colour when John had tried to recruit his help and weaseled his way out of it, pleading an emergency meeting with General Landry.

John paused for a minute to send a quick text message to Rodney—WEASEL, it said in very satisfying capitals—before sloping down the candy aisle. He should probably pick up a Dove bar or twelve for Teyla also. He wavered between the peanut butter or almond and cranberry options for a long moment. This was where Ronon would have been of big help, but he was off having happy fun first date.... _whatever_ with Dr Keller. Ronon seemed to know what women wanted. John was even pretty sure that not all the combined forces of the Feminine Products aisle could have withstood Ronon, but here John was, buddy-less, so he sighed and tossed three of each kind of bar into his basket.

He finally emerged out from the aisles to the bright lights and relative safety of the check outs—no sanitary towels or yeast infection treatments or intimate cleansers, whatever the hell they were, to threaten him here—but there was a line of people waiting and only one bored-looking, acne-bedevilled high school student on checkout duty. Great. John stood in line, shifted his weight from one foot to another, swapped the basket from hand to hand, cleared his throat, shifted his weight again, but still the line didn't seem to move.

This kind of thing wouldn't have happened if—well, it probably would have happened if Rodney had been here, but not if Ronon had been free to come along, John thought mournfully. He'd bet that if Keller ever sent her boyfriend out to buy Feminine Things for her, Ronon would be able to handle it—admittedly, John didn't think Keller was the kind of person to do that. She was very pro-birth control, and had been known to have conversations with Teyla over the dinner table about Emma Goldman and Marie Stopes the benefits of the coil. Once, she'd explained about vaginal rings, and the difference between those and IUDs, and John had sworn later to Rodney that he'd been in fire fights less harrowing—of course, when Teyla had asked a question about the cervix and _procedures_, and Ronon had volunteered information about Satedan soldiers getting _the snip_ to help with population control, that had been when the self-protective amnesia had kicked in.

Maybe a little of it had kicked in now, too, because John made it to the front of the line without really being aware of the wait. He dumped his basket in front of the kid, daring him to say something and hoping he wouldn't and wishing like hell that he was wearing his thigh holster—or even that his credit card said 'Lt Col J Sheppard' on it, because surely he wouldn't try to make any jokes about a military man and lady parts. But the kid just scanned the stuff through and muttered, "Your total is $137.57, credit or debit?", and John was so stunned that it cost that much for things to stuff inside your lady bits that he forgot to be embarrassed and just signed his credit card slip.

He got to the door and cast a furtive glance to the left and right before scurrying out into the parking lot and heading for his car. He tossed the bag into the back seat of the Camaro—a car that had surely never been asked to carry cargo like this before—and headed back to base. John drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, Johnny Cash on the stereo for moral support, because after all, there was one last hurdle ahead—getting back inside the mountain with a bag full of Tampax. Maybe he could get Ronon to come up and help him? But no, John thought and let an evil little smirk pass over his face—wasn't Rodney always saying that when you needed a job done right, you needed a McKay? He put his foot down on the gas.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Corey's Shift (An Unauthorized Companion Piece)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/443979) by [elderwitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderwitty/pseuds/elderwitty)




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